


Not So Much a Standing Ovation

by elfin



Series: Absolution [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 11:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin





	Not So Much a Standing Ovation

Will goes back to work. For the first week he's teaching and Hannibal only sees him twice, both occasions are at his home for dinner. On both occasions Will stays over. He wonders if Alana knows.

Hannibal goes to see Jack before Will returns to his classroom.

‘I won’t let you destroy him,’ he tells him, and Jack looks at him steadily with a hint of fear in his eyes. It feels good to finally see it there.

‘What is he to you?’ Jack goes on the defensive. ‘Patient. Friend. More?’

‘What he is to me is none of your business.’

‘I care for Will.’

‘You put him behind bars.’

‘The evidence....’

‘He’s the best man I know.’

‘You provided most of the evidence!’

‘I did no such thing. I simply gave you my point of view. It was yours to dismiss, to disprove. If I think for one second that you’re drawing him back down the same path that almost killed him, I won't be responsible for my actions.’

 

He waits a week before he kills Chiltern. During Will’s time at the institution, the good doctor treated him to petty torments for no better reason than his own amusement. Small but resentful punishments for things Will wasn't guilty of, such as Hannibal's visits, things the doctor wasn’t able to prevent but which he definitely didn’t like. Jealousy is an ugly trait. Will was subject to small indignities at Chiltern's hands and Hannibal made certain he knew for who and what he was dying, made sure he suffered similar humiliations before he took his last breath.

He made sure too that Will had a firm alibi in the form of Jack Crawford for the time of the killing, but couldn’t resist leaving the body theatrically placed in the doctor's own office, splayed over his own desk for his secretary to find the following morning, split open lengthways with his liver removed and his castrated penis between his lips, marinating in a sauce of his own bodily fluids. He does it because he wants to revenge those things Will could not, the things he dealt with during his incarceration. But also he does it because he wants to see what Jack will do, and what Will will do.

Crawford's tenacity is breathtaking. He pulls Will out of a lecture to take him to the crime scene. He does at least have the manners to reassure him that he knows this has nothing to do with him, and says he's sorry for making Will look. This Hannibal finds out very late that same night when Will drops by at his home for a night cap and to make love. He seems fine, calm and very much in control, unsettled by the scene in Chiltern’s office but not upset about it. Hannibal wants to ask him how it made him feel, seeing the man who set those little tortures to make his stay at the institute even more unpleasant than it needed to be. But he doesn’t, decides to wait until they have a more formal session in his office because despite the change in their relationship Will remains his unofficial patient. Hannibal is nothing if not possessive about certain things.

However it made him feel, it hasn’t put in dent in his ardour. That night, Will is as passionate always and they don't get to sleep until the early hours of the morning. Before Will leaves for work, Hannibal makes coffee and pastries and they sit at the counter in the kitchen to eat before he kisses Hannibal goodbye.

'Come for dinner tonight,' Hannibal suggests and from the open doorway of his kitchen, Will nods and smiles.

'Ill bring the wine,' he offers, and Hannibal thanks him. 'What would you say goes best with liver?'

He doesn't move. It's difficult enough to keep breathing, he can't seem to find his voice and he doesn't know what to say if he could. Will just smiles.

'Maybe a Merlot. Ill see you later.'

He closes the door and Hannibal still can't move to follow him, to... what? Reason with him? Kill him? He hears his front door open and close and carefully puts down the plate he's been holding. If he isn't going to stop Will, and he's so far from being capable of harming him badly enough to do that, it leaves only three options open to him.

Suicide isn't something he will ever consider and running away is for men who can't think their way around a problem. If Will knows then somewhere along the line he has made a mistake and there will be evidence somewhere. He has no choice but to face this head on and wait for the right opportunity to side step onto a different path. He cleans up from breakfast, takes his time with the dishes, thinking it would be a good domestic scene for the FBI agents to find him in, put that tiny doubt in their minds, but no one comes bursting in through the front door. 

He calls the office and cancels his appointments for the day, he doesn't want to be arrested in front of a patient. He asks if anyone has been looking for him or asking for him but Mona says no. She sounds the same as always, there are no stresses in her voice to alert him to danger.

He puts on some music and picks up a book but he is too distracted to read. He'll miss Will, he realises, more than he’ll miss anything else in his life, with the obvious exception of his liberty. 

Around eleven he hears a single siren approaching the house and steels himself for the unwelcome invasion but the car passes by, doesn't stop, continues passed and fades from his ears. 

He goes for a walk at lunchtime and nothing seems suspicious or out of place. He eats at a perfect little cafe on the corner of the park and amuses himself watching as they pass by. Maybe it’s taking time to put together the right size team that Will feels is enough to capture him. Maybe by warning him, Will is giving him the chance to get away. At least in the asylum Will would have access to him if he wants it. He won't run. And if there are other arrangements he should be making prior to his arrest, he can't think what they are.

He returns to the house but no one is waiting for him. He makes a pot of tea and tries again to read. Finally he takes up a pencil and draws from memory a sketch of the Duomo in Florence. Maybe they will let him hang it on the wall of his cell in place of a view.

At just after six he hears a key in the front door and looks up. There are no red and blue lights at the windows, no shouting of instructions or arming of weapons. Instead, the living room door opens and there's just Will holding a bottle of red wine and looking at him in an odd way. 

'Am I early?’

Hannibal can’t do anything but stare at him. He opens his mouth but finds he has no idea what he wants to say. Finally, as Will slips into the room and puts the wine on the low table in front of the couch, he decides on the direct approach.

‘Where are the FBI agents, Will?’

His fingers linger on the top of the bottle and a small sad smile touches his lips. Then he raises his head and looks at Hannibal and he knows to his abject relief that no one is coming.’  
‘Langley?’ 

‘You’re playing games.’

Will’s eyebrows raise and he can read the implication: look who’s talking. He picks up the bottle he’s bought.

‘Why don’t I pour us a drink?’

He takes the wine to the kitchen and returns less than a minute later with two glasses, the cork gone from the neck. He hands Hannibal a glass and sits down in the armchair opposite the couch on which Hannibal has been sitting and drawing.

‘You’ve been sitting here all day, waiting for the FBI?’ he asks, interested, and Hannibal takes a sniff of the red wine. It’s good, expensive; it’s a bottle Will put thought into buying.

‘I went out for lunch,’ he replies.

Will takes a sip of his drink and it occurs to Hannibal that he could be wearing a wire but he dismisses the idea almost immediately. Will, bless him, wouldn’t deceive him in that way. He would rather just call Jack in to pick him up based on suspicion and get the truth out of Hannibal simply by asking him for it.

‘What made you think the FBI would be coming?’

‘I believe that’s what you implied before you left this morning.’

Putting down his glass, lacing his fingers, Will takes a deep breath. ‘Why did you kill Dr Chiltern? And please, do me the favour of not insulting me by lying.’

Hannibal decides not to tell the truth either. ‘I didn’t like him.’

Will smiles hesitantly. ‘I didn’t either.’

He can’t resist. ‘Then maybe I killed him for you.’ The smiles vanishes. ‘Why haven’t you told Crawford?’

‘Because they would very likely put you in the same cell I’ve just got out of and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.’

‘You think I’m your worst enemy?’

Will looks up. ‘Are you?’

It’s the trust and pleading in those eyes that has the capability of flooring him as nothing else ever has. He’s certain Will isn’t aware of how much he reaches out to him when he looks at him like that. Hannibal shakes his head. ‘Not anymore.’

‘You framed me. Then you freed me.’ He looks confused. ‘Why?’

‘Because I imagined it was my plan for you. And it was for a time. But when I saw you behind those bars I realised I was wrong. Tell me, Will, why aren’t you angry?’

‘Oh, I am. I’ve been angry for two days. I knew yesterday when I saw Chiltern’s body. I stepped back and saw everything, saw you making him suffer, saw you take his liver to cook it for me as some sort of apology.’

‘Last night, you didn’t say anything. We made love....’

‘Because I love you.’ He smiles in that self-effacing way that he has. His words steal Hannibal’s breath for a second but they don’t seem to be any kind of revelation to Will. Like everything terrible that’s ever happened to him, he just accepts the truth in his heart. ‘I should have expected that I would fall in love with a serial killer. No wonder Alana ran a mile when I kissed her.’

Hannibal takes a sniff of the wine. It’s very, very good. ‘Will....’ But he honestly doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea what love would even feel like. 

‘Did you kill them all? The copycats?’ He nods. ‘Why?’

‘You know why. Now it’s I who am in your hands, Will.’ He points this out very carefully. ‘You have my word that I won’t ever hurt you, or do anything to hurt you, again.’

‘I know better than to ask if you’ll stop killing.’

He hesitates. ‘I could promise you I will... slow down. Stop hunting on your doorstep. Stop copying your cases.’

‘Why would you promise me that?’

‘Because, my sweet Will, although I’ve never actually been in love I do recognise many of its symptoms in myself when I think about you.’

It’s worth it for the smile. He imagines he would do a great many things to see that smile.

‘How many people have I eaten?’ he asks, and Hannibal experiences a shiver of excitement at the tone of his question. There’s a hint of revulsion but nothing like the level most people would exhibit. Moreover, Will sounds curious.

‘One or two. I honestly can’t remember, Will, but you do have a habit of turning up in time for dessert. ‘

He nods, sips his wine and Hannibal knows what’s coming next. 

‘You killed Abigail.’ 

It’s his one lasting regret. At the time it was his pièce de résistance, but he misses her, he had become fond of her. Maybe if she hadn’t worked it out, if she hadn’t seen through him... but second thoughts after the fact won’t help anyone. He hears the upset in Will’s voice and blinks two tears from his own eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, Will. I got carried away by the game.’ He doesn’t need to act here, these are real emotions, things he isn’t used to feeling and it all stems from seeing Will standing behind those bars, calm and sharp and finally at peace. A caged animal that’s recognised it’s out of the reach of its predators. Out of Hannibal’s reach. He’s broken every one of his own rules to get Will back. Abigail was a waste and his ego is to blame for that.

Will puts down his glass, swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffs. But he doesn’t leave. Hannibal can barely believe that. The idea that Will knows everything and isn’t running, isn’t calling Crawford, isn’t yelling and screaming and threatening violence on either of them isn’t something he knows what to do with. He wants to comfort, which is something he barely remember how to do and isn’t sure he should do under the circumstances.

He’s the cause of this. Will needs to find his own cure.

‘Where do we go from here?’ he asks quietly and to his surprise Will looks up.

‘I don’t want things to change between us.’

‘You still want me as your lover, despite what you know?’

‘I wanted you two days ago. I wanted you last night. It just goes to show what a twisted person I actually am. I know what and who you are but somehow...’ he swallows, shakes his head, ‘somehow it makes me feel... safe.’

Something cracks inside Hannibal on hearing those words, something breaking open. He feels a swell of emotion he can’t put a name to but knows suddenly and without a doubt that he will protect this man with his own life if needs be. God help anyone, including Jack Crawford, who tries to lay a finger on him, who draws even the tiniest speck of blood or puts a single tear in his eye. 

He reaches between them and surrounds one of Will’s hands with his own. 

‘You have my word that I will keep you that way.’

He doubts it’s his word but more the tone of his voice that brings that expression to Will’s face – the play of that smile over his closed mouth, the way it almost, almost touches his eyes. 

Will’s fingers curl over his wrist and he says, ‘Thank you.’

 

They make love upstairs in Hannibal’s bed and there’s a different quality to it then there has been previously. They undress one another slowly before Hannibal lies Will down on the silk comforter like a china doll and maps out his body, his myriad scars, the places on his skin where he is sensitive and the places he has no feeling at all. He pushes one of Will’s knees to the side and slides into his body with ease, keeping them as close as he can. His movements inside Will are slow and languorous as he peppers him with kisses and tiny nips, turning the whole act into some form of worship he hadn’t believed himself capable of until now. 

They’re so close, Will’s hands are on his back, his cock trapped between their sweat-slick bellies, the exquisite pleasure written all over his face; those same sensations that are running along Hannibal’s nerves. He’s never felt more alive, never felt so much for anyone, all these feelings he has for Will. Lowering his head he kisses him, sliding his tongue into his mouth, tasting him and being tasted. Will’s nails scrape over his shoulder blades and down his back and he groans, arching into it before thrusting back inside him.

His orgasm hits hard and unexpected, forehead bowed to Will’s shoulder, arms shaking with the effort of holding him up, he can feel himself pulsing inside Will’s body and slowly becomes aware of a slick stickiness on his skin that can only be Will’s own climax. It has the heat and texture of drying blood and he closes his eyes for a moment to imagine twin wounds seeping into one another. But it isn’t a violent thought. He wishes no such injury to this man beneath him. 

He lets his arms give way and rolls half to the side, slipping out of Will, one leg still wrapped over one muscled thigh, his arm possessively around Will’s slim waist. He’s thin bordering on scrawny. He needs to eat more and better, needs to recover from his myriad ordeals with someone he trusts in a place he’s comfortable. Hannibal lays his head on the pillow and waits for Will to look at him. The knowledge he now carries doesn’t show in his eyes and that’s good. All he sees is a wary happiness that he can work to draw out, a nervous smile that has nothing to do with fear and the beginnings of an odd sort of peace.

He leans forward and kisses Will’s mouth. He isn’t sure what to say so he doesn’t say anything and Will doesn’t seem to expect or need him to. He’s certain that somewhere down the line those three words people like to use so much will fall from his lips as easily as ‘good morning’ but he won’t say them until he’s certain he understands what they mean. He won’t insult Will by lying. Not ever again.

In him he’s found a partner, an equal. Will won’t ever condone what he does but he’ll never, ever turn him in. He’ll trust Hannibal and in turn will demand trust. He’ll heal, he’ll grow. He’ll sleep peacefully in Hannibal’s arms and won’t wake in the grip of a nightmare or somewhere other than where he fell asleep. For the first time in his life, Hannibal will have a real friend, someone who knows him and sees him and still chooses to like him, to be in his company, to spend time with him. He’s never had someone like that in his life before. He never imagined he would have, not him. He’s always thought he was destined to be alone, for his path to cross the paths of others but never to run alongside and definitely never to share with someone. Even when he first met Will he didn’t imagine he had found a companion, a mate. A man fragile enough to interest him yet strong enough to walk with him in the dark places they both know. A man who is different to most other people, who is breaking and desperate for someone like Hannibal to put him together. Hannibal’s sorry for shattering him so completely before starting to fit the pieces back. He will make up for it. He makes a silent promise to Will as he sleeps, entangled with the man who all but destroyed him, murdered for him and fed him the trophies he took.

Will’s ability to forgive can’t be infinite, but Hannibal has no interest in finding its limits. He understands that to lose him would be to kill him, and the world would indeed be a smaller, darker, sadder place without him in it. 

He drifts the tips of his fingers through Will’s dark hair. It’s as soft as duck down. His long lashes don’t even flicker. He’s sound asleep. Utterly comfortable, utterly secure in his trust of the serial killer and cannibal he’s chosen to hand his heart to. Or, if not chosen to, at least has allowed himself to. If Hannibal believed in God, he would be sending up a prayer of thanks. But he doesn’t. How could a loving God tolerate the existence of someone like Hannibal amongst his flock? Instead he presses a chaste kiss to Will’s forehead before closing his eyes and resting. He isn’t tired, the adrenaline of the day and the evening is still in his system. In a little while he’ll rise and start to cook for them. Anything but the liver that’s cooling in his refrigerator. 

It would be rude, he feels, to immediately rub Will’s face in the brutal honest truth of the secret he’s chosen to keep. He has all the time in the world to let him come to terms with it by himself. He’s not going anywhere, and neither is Will.


End file.
